International Monster Premier League
by Bemused Celery
Summary: Iscariot. Hellsing. Each powerful in their own right - but who has mastered the ultimate ability to bend it like Beckham? Starring everybody but the kitchen sink.
1. Amendment

(_**A/N**: My first piece of writing for eyes other than my own. I am keen to improve, so if you have any suggestions, tips or general encouragement, please do not hold back. More in a little while, once I have had a chance to change out of my work clothes. Thank you all for your time!_)

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Chapter 1: The Amendment

"No. I won't play."

Integra Hellsing closed her eyes and spoke through clenched teeth.

"I don't care what you think it will do, Walter - I am not playing."

The butler kept a peaceful tone at the strain evident in his master's voice.

"It is necessary, Sir. That is part of the agreement."

"What agreement? Who signed that bloody agreement?"

Integra's cold exterior was showing minor cracks in the old man's eyes.

"...You did, Sir."

Walter had seen his mistress suffer almost every emotion during her tenure as the leader of the Hellsing Organization, he had been there her entire life after all, and most of them he had now seen on the young woman's face this evening, as he had broken this news to her in her expansive, bare office.

"Walter, there is no way in HELL I would have agreed to this, and you KNOW it!" Her fist shook the table on impact. Were he a lesser man, he would have been shaking in his boots at the fearsome display. Instead, he was calm as ever.

"I... believe an amendment was made after you passed the contract on to be delivered, Sir."

"Amendment? By whom?"

Oh boy. Somebody was going to die a slow and painful death tonight.

A polite cough.

"By the deliverer, Sir."

Walter quietly placed the shorts, tee shirt, socks and boots in a pile on the chair, and while his mistress took this information in, bowed, and withdrew from the room. Integra's jaw had slackened slightly. Her unlit cigar hung limply from her lips as she stared at the football kit on her furniture, just about able to discern an H on the shirt. Her shirt.

Her mind shook itself clear of these unnecessary emotions, as it clicked everything into place and left the only emotion a woman in her position really needed.

Raw, unchained, deathly fury.

"ALUCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARD!"


	2. Protest

_(**A/N**: Thank you to everyone for reading this - and special thanks to **dash11** for your words of encouragement, they are **much** appreciated. Sorry it took so long to 'change out of my work clothes'! Hope you all continue to like this; just a silly little idea that popped into my head a while ago, and because we all love (torturing) Kouta Hirano's wonderful characters so much, thought it would be fun to subject them to this. There is a little intentional typo because I couldn't bring myself to swear - how quaint, no? Once again, many, many thanks for reading.)_

Chapter 2: Protest

The priest knocked on the big doors of the office.

"Ah, yes, come in," a slightly rattled-sounding Italian called.

Alexander opened the doors just enough to let himself through, and let them click closed behind him.

"God be with you, Father Anderson."

"And also with you," he replied, and bowed deeply, before taking his position opposite his host.

"I expect you have heard the news, Father?"

"Yes, as matter o' fact, I have," the priest said. "It is unusual, as trusts go, but I'm perfectly happy to comply with your demand." He was serene. The Italian regarded the broad, tall priest standing before him, head bowed respectfully, prepared to do his bidding, and then looked away, perturbed.

"It was not my demand, that much I can assure you."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I don't believe you have heard much about this at all, 'as a matter of fact', Anderson, because had you heard you may have been less compliant."

Alexander raised his gaze just a little, to peer through his glasses at the other man. He had turned his back to Anderson, and from the tension in his interlocked fingers, it was obvious that whatever it was that Alexander didn't know greatly agitated the younger man.

"Well, Father Maxwell, what is the problem lad?"

The term of endearment, inappropriate but always forgiven, hung in the air. Maxwell's voice spoke from the other side of his ponytail.

"It is against Hellsing."

The ticking of the large grandfather clock seemed to louden.

"Oh."

"And I must partake too."

"Oh."

The senior priest spun round, enraged.

"'Oh'? Is that all you can say? Damn it man, we are supposed to be killing those basturds not playing games with them!"

"Now, Enrico," Father Anderson soothed, automatically speaking to the powerful man as he did when he was just a little boy in the orphanage. "I agree completely that this is a most unorthodox turn of events. However," he continued before Enrico began his tirade anew, "I am perfectly able to see how it could further our cause. After all, if you are on the pitch, nobody would suspect you of giving the order to assassinate their foot soldiers now, would they, hmm?"

He watched Maxwell's face slowly return from purple, to red, to his usual pale gold.

"Indeed," the man with authority pondered. "Well... In that case..." he locked eyes while considering his words carefully. "I see no reason for the Vatican to renege on this deal."

He smiled that smile that always worried the priest a little, but he hid his worry well.

"Aye. Say no more, Father Maxwell. Let us prepare for the games next week." In every way necessary.

"Indeed. I disagree with the garments though."

"Oh nonsense, lad. Bit o' sun to the skin never did a man o' God any harm," Alexander chuckled, as he walked out on a gaping Enrico.

Yes. This match against the cream of Hellsing would be most interesting and fruitful indeed.


	3. Rendezvous

On Sir Integra's orders, the field of Earlborough Primary Academy had been sealed off well that Thursday evening. Late-afternoon sunshine poured across the grounds, bathing the buildings, and the field, in a cordial orange glow. The children had left promptly when they spied teachers casting worried glances towards the funny-looking policeman in the red cape, and a miniature band of England's population would grow up convinced that this garb was the true uniform of an officer. After a few private words from Walter in the reticent headteacher's office the door had opened and she seemed quite relaxed about the whole thing. "It is only one evening, after all. I'm sure they can get their exercise through their Xboxes and such this week," she smiled kindly. She agreed to leave the keys to the grounds not with the foreigners but with the nice monocled gentleman. _Is there anything that man cannot do?_, Integra had then pondered; but now that everyone was in place, the initial moment of impress had long passed. Integra watched Seras limbering up excitedly, no doubt discussing tactics with the fifth player on her side, one or the other of the Wild Geese at Integra's disposal. Pip had announced his wish to watch from the sidelines. She had no doubt on just whom his eyes would be trained.

At least none of her men had had the indecency to ask any questions though. Which was more than could be said of her wretched servant.

Too far for her to see, Father Anderson was speaking with an excitable team of his own.  
"No fighting, remember. Tis just a friendly match."  
"If any of those scum even so much as _look_ at me funny, I _vill_ kill them," Heinkel snarled. Her clenching fists, while strictly prohibited from taking part in the evening's activities, were nevertheless guarantees of her promise.  
"I don't think that will be necessary," Yumiko replied, "we'll have won before they've even had a chance to realise the game has begun."  
Father Anderson's lips curved up serenely, a mask concealing the adrenaline that gurgled hotly beneath the surface as he thought of the little plan of his own.  
"We have some of our brothers and sisters ready to substitute should any of us need tae take leave."  
"Father, are you suggesting that we might actually come into danger from those runtish weaklings?"  
The priest rewarded the question with one of his gentle smiles. "Let us just play and enjoy, for now."  
Heinkel and Yumiko glanced at each other at his uncharacteristically placid remark.

"The Vatican team is ready, Sir, when you give the order," a soft voice came from beside her.  
"Walter shouldn't you be..."  
Integra's sentence died on her lips, unfinished, when she saw the old butler in shorts, his hair in a neatly oiled-back ponytail, monocle twinkling in the sun. She was momentarily distracted.  
"I've never seen your legs before."  
"Nor I yours," a silken voice wafted from behind her, breaking the reverie. She turned, intending to stare Alucard down with one of the iciest of her glowers. The sight of her family slave, the most powerful being in modern occult history, without sleeves and with no fight to account for it, threw her off.  
"I don't want one WORD from you," she simply said.

A couple of players from each team immediately knew there was something wrong when Yumiko's kick sent the ball whistling into Alucard, and he took a tumble. Intentionally angled away from everyone - so that only Integra caught the glimpse of the grin meant only for her - he let himself bleed a little puddle around him. The players were the only ones who watched on, legs still but hearts thundering, wondering what on Earth the creature was doing.  
"Anderson, I don't like this," Maxwell confided in hushed tones. "Find out what is happening. If they play with four then so shall we."  
"But Bishop-"  
"Silence." Heinkel's protest was cut short by the Organization Leader. "Go, Anderson, hurry," Enrico urged, motioning toward the injured vampire, where despite their best efforts at adding length to the makeshift stretcher, the medical aids, nursing staff working with the school, were struggling to fit on an inert Alucard, attempting to carry him away.  
Alexander hid his amusement, like his worry, in a safe, unreachable place. _Where do ye think yer goin', Midian?_, he mused, slipping away unseen toward the Hellsing changing room, fingering the sharp tips of the blades hidden within his sleeves.

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Once below the pit, after the departure of the five staff struggling under the weight of the figure on the insufficiently tiny medical cot, Alucard lightly dusted himself down, and began his stroll to the appointed location. He amused himself en route to the unfamiliar destination with two thoughts: the most pressing was whether his rendezvous would be business first, violence later; or, as he hoped, there would be a few moments' play before attending to the matter at hand. Knowing the acquaintance, however, he eagerly anticipated the latter. An easy, avaricious smile twisted his thin lips as he glided silently further down into the bowels of Earlborough's masonry.

The second thought that lightly decorated the edges of his thoughts was of the fifth nurse - the one from - where had he said - Leadworth? - who would probably be seeing all manner of impossibly silly things from now on. His fault for being such a bumbling fool. Nobody crushed Alucard's hat, not even accidentally, not even those astute enough to detect something other-worldly about the inhumanly tall and skinny man. Even if it caused their hold to falter, dropping his hat and then trampling over it in a nervous mishap. Maybe on his way out he would release the human from the hypnosis. Maybe.

He approached the designated spot and his pace slackened; the other person was already there.

"Yer gettin' slow, monster."

Alucard chuckled; the familiar drawl filled the empty spaces of the large cavern with a low-pitched echo.

"Your hurry is quite understandable, old man."

His adversary took a slow step toward him, and his glasses glinted brightly in what dim light emanated from the passageway down which the vampire had stalked. There was a fervour surely present in the bright, emerald eyes behind those glasses that was matched by the brief sheen of his blades, his bared sharp teeth. His words belied the couthie tone that delivered them.

"Best let yer corpse do the talking, vampire, 'afore in God's name Ah tern it tae dust."

The feeble eyes of innocents wouldn't have been able to follow the blur that the figure became just then. Above ground, the earth was atremble; but most of the people there put it down to the force with which Integra's foot had just lobbed the ball into the back of Maxwell's head.

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_A.N. Holy notepads, Batman - a new chapter! My profound apologies, anyone who has read this, for the gargantuan delay in updating. What began as a humorous three-chapter parody in which Integra is forced into footie shorts has grown branches - roots - and I know not yet the size of the tree. Actually I got thrown off by the dashing __**dash11**__ and the marvellous __**maroongrad**__, who made me think Anderson should be a little more involved... so here it is! The Hellsing Organisation's favourite Catholic madman, doing an awful lot of smiling._

_This story_ will _reach a conclusion, and it_ will_ retain some semblance of humour, whether we like it or not! (...I hope for the former.) _Please_ do keep posting reviews; they inspire me and instruct me, so do not be shy! I am placing my head in your hands, after all. Literally speaking._

_Thank you!_


End file.
